


Coffee?

by darnedchild



Series: Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019 [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, SAW2019 - Day 1, Sherlock is an idiot, Sherlolly - Freeform, sherlollyweek2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darnedchild/pseuds/darnedchild
Summary: Unfortunately, he'd only delayed the inevitable. She was going to walk in that door and he was going to have to say something . . . (A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019 - Day 1)





	Coffee?

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 : Sherlock – “We’ll start with the riding crop.”

**Coffee?**

Sherlock Holmes could hardly wait to get his hands on the cadaver concealed by the body bag. He’d tapped his foot impatiently as Molly Hooper finished up with the necessary paperwork to grant him access to the body for “research purposes”. 

She set her clipboard to the side and gestured to indicate he was free to do as he pleased. Within reason. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that thought. He was sure that his definition of reasonable wasn’t compatible with that of Molly’s superiors, but she’d been willing to let him push up to the very edge of their ridiculous restrictions on multiple occasions. 

She seemed to find his experiments almost as interesting as he did, often asking if she could stay to observe if she had nothing else on at the moment. He’d grown quite used to her presence over the last year, pleased to find that they had somehow fallen into a comfortable rhythm where she seemed to instinctively know when he needed silence and when he wanted her opinion on a matter. He’d even begun to leave some of his less delicate experiments in her care; which was a virtually unheard of sign of trust on his part and something he refused to consider too closely.

He pulled the zipper apart to look at the body within, bending closer to take a sniff. “How fresh?”

“Just in.” She continued to rattle off several pieces of information he had no interest in. Why should he care if the man had been ‘nice’ or where he’d formerly worked?

He resealed the bag and gave her the closest thing to a sincere smile he cared to attempt at the moment. Molly tended to agree with his odder requests more readily if he made an effort to appear marginally approachable and willing to engage in some of the less tedious aspects of social interaction. 

“Fine. We’ll start with the riding crop.”

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

Sherlock tried to concentrate on his current experiment, forcing his hand to hold steady as he used the pipette to add one-two-three drops into the Petri dish; but part of his attention kept drifting to the lab door. He both anticipated and dreaded Molly’s appearance with his cup of coffee.

He knew he’d handled her awkward flirtation poorly. He should have shut it down immediately, made it clear that his work was paramount and he had absolutely no interest in anything beyond a strictly professional relationship, but he’d been unable to force the words past his lips. He’d tried, oh he had tried, but he’d been distracted by the unexpected flash of colour on her lips and the flush in her cheeks as she’d watched him weld his riding crop and the phrases he’d carefully planned (firm but kind as he didn’t want to push her away entirely, he needed her cooperation at the lab and he would regret losing the rapport they’d managed to build over the last several months) had vanished from his mind.

The lipstick had drawn his gaze to her mouth and his brain immediately conjured up images he hadn’t thought of since his years at uni. His classmates had often bragged of their conquests, describing pornographic acts that had appealed to his baser instincts before he’d begun to focus on more important things. For one searing moment, he’d seen his crop leave a pink strip across the pale flesh of a shapely bottom in his mind’s eye, the same shade of pink as that on Molly’s lips. 

When she’d asked if he wanted coffee, he’d seen an escape route and taken it.

Unfortunately, he’d only delayed the inevitable. She was going to walk in that door and he was going to have to say something . . . 

Would it really be so bad if he agreed to spend an additional hour or two in her company? What was the worst that could happen? 

The door pushed open and he made sure none of his earlier trepidation showed on his face. Only it wasn’t Molly entering the lab, but Mike and a stranger. Sherlock eagerly pushed all thoughts of Molly from his mind and turned his attention to deducing the newcomer.

He was so focused on the puzzle of John Watson that he hadn’t decided what to do about Molly when she finally appeared with his cup of coffee. 

“Ah, Molly, coffee.” He inwardly cursed himself for falling back on stating the obvious like an idiot. “Thank you.” 

Even as she handed him the cup he found his gaze drawn to her lips once more. “What happened to the lipstick?” 

She smiled in that awkward way of hers. “It wasn’t working for me.”

Had she really given up so easily? 

And, more importantly, why did that irritate him so much?

“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too small now.” He turned his back and sipped his coffee, using the movement to try to mask the wince he couldn’t quite control. If he couldn’t manage a simple beverage exchange without inadvertently insulting Molly, how could he be expected to spend a prolonged period of time with her outside of Barts without the Work as a proper distraction? He’d be banned from the morgue and labs in less than a day.

The only option was to pretend none of this had ever happened and delete it from his mind palace at the earliest opportunity.


End file.
